


ask who always is on top

by damnromulans (beastofaburden)



Series: something deep down in the middle [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:03:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beastofaburden/pseuds/damnromulans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about interstellar diplomacy is that it’s not exactly straightforward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ask who always is on top

**Author's Note:**

> This continues to be really, really shameless porn, and I would like to thank Tumblr users [whitelaws](http://whitelaws.tumblr.com) and [radiophile](http://radiophile.tumblr.com) for encouraging this and feeding me ideas. Nothing brings people together quite like the thought of Jim Kirk being fucked beyond belief! Also, "steeplechase" is not only an athletic event but a form of horseracing which, to quote the lovely [radiophile](http://radiophile.tumblr.com) is 'a race as well as jumping so everything is literally at breakneck speeds.'
> 
> EDIT: This is a repost of what was formerly a chapter of _something deep down in the middle_ , but seeing as how there's no real chronological plot or anything I thought it was better as a series.

The thing about interstellar diplomacy is that it’s not exactly straightforward.

There are people who spend their entire careers mastering the finer points of first contact, rituals, cultural meshing. There are people who actually _enjoy_ stumbling their way through preliminary meetings hopped up on the promise of adventure and their name on an official report sent back to command. And then there are people who get dragged down to the surface of unexplored worlds by their fuckhead captains, because apparently the Fleet doesn’t have a problem with installing unrelenting assholes on the bridge of the goddamn flagship. 

That, in short, is how Leonard McCoy comes to be naked and shivering in the middle of high-roofed temple, on his knees, next to his equally naked Captain and First Officer. 

On the other hand, Uhura looks like she was born to be dressed head-to-toe in gold and finery, perched on a throne at the end of the hall. She doesn’t look at them – instead, faces down the crystal-skinned natives standing directly behind McCoy and the others. Somehow, she sounds completely confident as she speaks with them, even though it’s been mere hours since hearing the language for the first time. The words flow over them – McCoy wants desperately to ask Jim if he’s got any damn idea what’s going on, but from tight set of Uhura’s jaw he gathers that it would be a very bad idea to do anything but wait for the moment. 

Eventually, the three voyeurs file out of the room, sealing it with a bang. Then, Uhura begins to _laugh_.

“Lieutenant.” Jim doesn’t move from his place beside McCoy, but he sounds very much like Captain Kirk, and McCoy doesn’t have to look to feel the shift in his shoulders. “What the _hell_ is going on.”

“Oh, Captain. Gentlemen. You’re going to love this.”” She stands, takes something from the small table beside her throne. In the silken robes it looks like she’s gliding over the stone floor as she walks over to them. 

“Nyota.” Spock almost sounds annoyed, all until Uhura reaches him, leans down, and presses a brief kiss to his mouth. When she pulls back, she hands him what she took from the table: a small jar of viscous fluid, from what McCoy can make out, doesn’t look edible, but…

Holy shit, it’s lube.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Jim seems to connect the dots together around the same time as McCoy does. His reaction is, of course, a little different.

“Oh my God, best away mission _ever_. I thought this shit was a myth!”

Spock tests the lube carefully, rubs a smudge it between his index finger and thumb. McCoy knows that it’s clinical, something exactly that he’d do, but damn if he doesn’t feel just the slightest flicker of heat at Spock warming the gel on his fingers. 

“Sexual congress is an aspect of humanity that foreign cultures have long since sought to document. It is, of course, fundamental to their understanding of our species.”

“Yeah? And where the hell is that documented? On the bathroom wall at Starbase 3?”

“Introduction to Interstellar Diplomacy, week four, year one of the Academy.” McCoy rolls his eyes, because of fucking course Jim remembers that class. Uhura smiles, runs a hand through Jim’s hair, and comes to stand in front of McCoy. God, but she really does look gorgeous, there’s gold braided through her hair and even in the strange musky light of the temple, she glows. 

She cups McCoy’s cheek, thumb just brushing the corner of his lips. “Trust me, Leonard,” say says, and there’s something wicked in it, a tone of her voice that McCoy’s heard before and will never tire of.

It’s as she’s walking back to her seat, facing away from them all, that she says “They want you to fuck Jim. Both of you. At the same time.” She sits back down, smiles, like a woman with the world in her palm. “They’ll kill us if you don’t. I assured them we’d have no problems with their request.”

“Jesus.” It comes out on an exhale, and it’s only then that McCoy actually looks at Jim, mouth hanging open slightly, chest hitching slightly with rapidly quickening breath. “Seriously? Why would they even want-”

Spock cuts in. “I agree. This is highly unusual.”

“Not to mention goddamn dangerous! Can’t you explain to them that human body has certain _limits_?”

“Some do.” Uhura sits forward in the chair, rests her elbows on her knees. “But your limits have always been a little more _flexible_ , right, Kirk?”

McCoy can’t miss the way that Jim’s cock stirs, the way a flush creeps down his neck and chest. His own skin heats in reply – helpless to do anything but follow Jim’s lead, no matter what. 

“How did you know?” It’s the same, breathy tone, and _shit_ , McCoy wants to know too, how Uhura figured this out whilst he couldn’t. 

“Because you, Captain,” Uhura’s eyes flare with something wanting and proprietary, “are the most desperate cockslut I’ve ever had the pleasure of encountering. Now spread your legs so that Spock can prep you.”

She sits back in the chair, crosses her legs, and Jim only waits a moment before shifting forward on his knees, bracing his elbows on the floor and lifting his ass into the air. McCoy meets Spock’s eyes over Jim’s prone form – this isn’t exactly new to any of them, this thing shared between four, and Jim’s not usually one to volunteer for anything he doesn’t want to do (with sex, anyway.) Still, even as McCoy watches Spock coat his fingers, trail down Jim’s back, sees the gasp he draws as he enters Jim for the first time, it’s enough to give him pause.

This does not go unnoticed. 

“Still need convincing, Leonard?” Uhura flicks her eyes appreciatively up and down the ripples of Jim’s back, watches him move as Spock begins to work him. “Hm… do you remember, that night after Fibonar V?” 

“Vaguely.” McCoy takes a moment to find his voice – Jim’s shifted his face so that it’s resting on his clasped hands, looking right at him. It’s enough to knock him off kilter.

Uhura is incredulous. “Really? You don’t remember how I sat in your lap and we watched whilst Spock fucked Kirk, how you slipped right into him after he was done? You don’t remember how he _begged_ for it?” 

McCoy can feel his control slipping fast, especially as Jim looks with him with pleading eyes opened wide on lust and need. “Yeah. I remember that,” he says, and it’s low, graveled, but he’s not at all surprised that Uhura can still hear it.

“Tell me.”

“It’d been a while,” he can’t take his eyes off Jim’s face, doesn’t even try in all honestly, not when he’s started to bite his lips and his throat is tight from all the noise he’s struggling to hold back. “I remember that. And he’d been planetside for a few days – he said he wanted us to fuck him ‘til he couldn’t even walk.”

Spock stops, just briefly, uses the silence to say “I believe we obliged him, Doctor.”

That’s when the first gasp escapes Jim, but when he tries to turn his face down towards the floor is when McCoy has to reach out, has to thread his fingers through Jim’s hair and keep him right where he is, because he needs to see this, the play on his face whilst Spock gets him ready.

“You really up for this, kid?” It’s quiet enough that even if they could hear it, Uhura doesn’t say anything, and neither does Spock. Jim offers him a smile – a smile that stutters when Spock does something, he must be adding fingers now – but is a comfort, a balm against the heat that’s rising, nonetheless.

“You heard the lady, Bones. I want… it’ll be fine. It’ll be good.”

“Uhura’s not the one getting her ass reamed.”

“Uhura’s the one on the throne,” floats over them, and out of the corner of his eye McCoy can see the corner of Spock’s mouth twitch. “And if you really need physical evidence, well, have some. Spock. Show him.”

McCoy pulls back as Jim is suddenly wrenched up, Spock slotting himself behind Jim with ease, never ceasing his careful work of his ass but now also dragging a hand down his chest, scratching a nipple, and resting in the scruff at the base of his hardened cock. Jim moans at it, hitches his hips forward, tries to force Spock’s hand over his shaft to no avail. It all catches McCoy off guard, somehow, that Jim’s cock hasn’t even been _touched_ but it’s straining and red and dripping precome, that Jim’s eyes are wild at the very thought of what’s about to happen, and there’s a red flush staining his neck and face and chest as his blood fucking sings for it. 

“Wait for Spock,” Uhura sounds just the slightest bit distracted now, and if McCoy could bring himself to look away from Jim he’d probably find her with her hand between her thighs. “Wait for Spock to fuck him open for you, and then you can have him too, Leonard. And neither of you touch his cock – not until I say.”

“Why does Spock get to go first?” McCoy can’t help it, reaches for the lube now on the floor between them and slicks his hand, runs it up and over his own dick whilst Jim squirms and fucking licks his lips at the sight of it. 

“I believe that it is in the interest of fairness.” Spock’s still focused on getting Jim good and ready, holding him in place. “You have the ability to partake of the Captain whenever you wish to do so. Nyota and I are afforded the opportunity less frequently.”

“Damn straight,” McCoy mutters, but there’s no malice to it, not now, not ever, not when all of them together has always felt so damn right and Jim can have another man’s fingers up his ass and still look at McCoy like _that_ , like he’d burn the world down if anything came between them. 

Uhura sighs, a lilting, pleased noise. “Spock, on the floor. Jim’s going to ride you.”

Spock doesn’t hesitate, and his “Yes, Nyota,” is so unthinkingly deferential that it trips McCoy up, reminds him that he’s not the only one here with vested interests beyond those in his hands. Jim’s told him before, what it’s like to meld with them both – _it’s like a song and a storm and the best blowjob you’ve ever had, it’s fucking blinding, man_ \- but he’s never crossed the line himself. Still, he finds himself crossing lines more and more these days; hell, he never thought he’d fucking moan at the sight of Jim settling himself on Spock’s lap and sinking onto his long cock, but he’s not so much crossing that line right now as he is jumping over it like it’s a fucking steeplechase. 

Breaking the stallion, indeed.

“ _God_.” Uhura says it as Jim adjusts himself, shifts and whimpers and jerks his hips. McCoy peeks at her, finally - she’s got one leg hooked over the arm of the throne, and he can just make out the movement of her hand beneath her skirts. She’s stroking herself, slow, measured, eyes still trained unerringly on Spock and Jim.

“He takes it so well, Leonard. Just look at him. How could you not want-”

“I never said I didn’t want it.” McCoy wrenches his hand away from his cock, fists it at his side, knows he must sound frustrated because Jim turns his head even as he fucks himself steadily on Spock, looks to McCoy with half-lidded eyes and a smile that’s stupid and floppy and unguarded. It’s a look that belongs to Sunday mornings on shore leave and those rare quiet days when floating in space seems normal, utterly happy, and McCoy doesn’t - can’t - hesitate. He slots himself against Jim’s back easily, in the v-shape of Spock’s splayed legs, throw an arm around a collarbone and rests the other hand on Jim’s hip, presses hard kisses over his shoulders and holds him through it as he moves.

Spock’s hand – hot, smooth, comes to rest over the one McCoy has on Jim’s waist. He twists their fingers together and they guide Jim’s movements with the barest hint of pressure. McCoy nips up the slope of Jim’s neck and at the skin below his ear. He makes sure to take his time, makes sure that Spock is looking at him and the bruise he’s leaving. He keeps his teeth bared once it’s good and purple – there’s something base and downright _animal_ in the way that Spock’s staring them down, and McCoy has to meet that, somehow, can’t crawl into Jim’s mind with a touch but he can do it with his words.

“Why in hell wouldn’t I want this?” He tightens the arm around Jim’s shoulders, covers every word in the grit and desperation that he knows Jim loves to hear and that he can’t hold in, not anymore. “I wanna see you stuffed so full that you can feel it in your goddamn throat. You look so fucking _good_ like this, drives me up the wall, every fucking time I look at you and all I can think about is you taking my cock.”

Jim, the bastard, keeps up his steady thrusts onto Spock, but tilts his head so that his mouth brushes over McCoy’s as he speaks, a tease of lips and breath and still fucking smiling so bright.

“I’m not taking anything from you, though. Not yet.”

Uhura gasps – McCoy knows it well, the noise she makes when you brush _that_ place inside of her, and his stomach flips at the thought of her fucking her own fingers. But it dissolves into a laugh, and a breathy “Oh, so he _is_ still coherent. Fix that for him, will you, Leonard?”

“Uhura’s right. You really should.” He takes McCoy’s lips with his own, properly this time. It’s so easy and so good and McCoy melts into it the way he always has, because there’s no resisting this, the nip at his bottom lip and the twist of that smile pressed against his own. And Jim, he just knows it, pulls away just barely enough to press “Fuck me, right now, wanna feel you Bones” into his mouth and that just about does it. 

He has to pull away to reach the jar – Spock takes the opportunity to regain control of Jim’s pace, grabs his hips and stabs his hips into Jim rapidly whilst McCoy goes about slicking his cock and fingers liberally. He can’t quite stop thinking how ludicrous this is, that it’s barely physically possible. But then there are the other thoughts, like how fucking tight Jim will be, what it’ll be like to be slotted against Spock, what Uhura will get them to do. That, combined with what is absolutely the sound of Uhura’s first orgasm, and the heady moan from both Jim and Spock that follows, is what draws him back into place behind Jim.

Uhura is a touch breathless when she issues her next order. But, you can’t keep a good woman down, and she’s so much better than _good_ that McCoy’s lost track of it. 

“Stop. Jim, stop. Now.”

With a palpable reluctance, Jim does so, steadies himself and straightens his back and waits. McCoy trails his fingers over the small of Jim’s back, and then downwards. He traces the line of skin where Spock’s cock disappears inside and feels both of them shudder at it. He gives them only a moment before he slides it in, the strange, sleek heat of Spock against Jim’s clench. He wants to surprise them with it, and judging by the way Jim whimpers and Spock has to fight to still his hips, he does. Good.

“Would you look at that,” he hears himself mutter, almost mystified. A twist, a few thrusts, and a second finger joins the first, his hands steady and thorough in their employment, just as they always are. 

“ _Bones_.” It’s wrenched out, but not pained, and that’s when the third finger slips in. Jim cries out and reaches back, catches McCoy’s free hand in one of his own. 

“All right, darlin’?”

“Yes, God, would you stop fucking worrying?” Jim’s trying for annoyed it’s too tangled up in desperation. He tries to tug McCoy in closer, get them pressed tight together again, but a gentle tut from Uhura stays his hand. McCoy takes the opportunity to lean to the side, slightly, cocks an incredulous eyebrow at Spock.

“How about you? All fine?”

“Fine is an inadequate measure of-”

“Oh, fuck off.” Jim laughs at that, and it reverberates through all three of them, adds awarmth to the moment that no amount of skin can quite create. It’s a comfort to McCoy as he lines himself up, helps in tamping down the last of his nerves about this. The head of his cock presses insistently beside his fingers, still left to ease the way, but at the very last moment he stops. 

McCoy rests his forehead against the base of Jim’s neck. “Uhura… Nyota. May I?” he asks, low and determined, drops an absent kiss to Jim’s spine as her rasping but rich reply comes – she hasn’t stopped touching herself this whole time.

“You may.”

The initial push is not easy for any of them. Jim grips his hand so hard their knuckles turn white, and Spock is hot, so fucking _hot_ beside him, as if Jim wasn’t searing heat enough. McCoy closes his eyes despite himself. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He grits it out, sliding in all the while. “Fuck, _Jim_ -”

“Keep going.” Jim sounds like all the wind’s been knocked out of him. Maybe it has been. “Bones, don’t stop, don’t.”

He doesn’t. He keeps going, until he’s bottomed out and his hand is back on Jim’s hip and it’s goddamn overwhelming, how good this feels, how good they all feel together, he feels frenzied and overheated but he knows that Jim’s going to need a time to adjust. He takes the chance to look to Uhura – covered in a light sheen of sweat, still working herself diligently, and smiling with such adoring satisfaction that any frustration McCoy feels towards her is instantly vaporized.

“This what they wanted, sweetheart?” he asks. 

“Yes,” she sighs. “It’s everything they wanted.”

Spock bumps McCoy’s leg with his own, just lightly. He doesn’t sound much better than Jim, the steadiness of his voice hanging by a thread, but McCoy gets that because _fuck_ , he feels so goddamn hot slotted in beside him. 

“Doctor. How shall we proceed?” 

“Oh, so you are going to do something eventually, then?” The only way McCoy sees fit to answer Jim in that regard is with a shunt of his hips that knocks a shocked little “Ah!” from his throat, makes him tighten around the both of them all the more, and fuck, he had no idea this was what it would be like, they should have done this ages ago.

Still, Jim doesn’t need to know that, so when Spock also takes the hint, moves just slightly, McCoy hisses into the skin of Jim’s neck. “Learn some goddamn patience, Jim-boy. Ain’t nothing else you can do right now.”

The rhythm begins, builds from there. McCoy rolls his hips in a perfect counter-point to Spock’s, sweat prickles at his skin, and so fucking easy to lose himself in this. He wonders what it would be like in Jim’s position, filled and fucked and aching with it, God, he’s going to feel his for _days_ , he’s going to be so loose from it. 

“Uhura,” Jim barks it out, like he’s forgotten how to be quiet amongst his moans. “I need to – God, can they please touch me yet? I’m so fucking…” he trails off into a low, hitching noise as Spock halts their tandem thrusts for a moment and presses deep and searing into Jim’s prostate. McCoy stills too, because fuck, that’s hot, whilst they wait for her answer.

“I said not until I gave you permission.” Uhura’s shifting on the chair, her robe tinkling ridiculously as she does so. “And I haven’t given permission to _any_ of you. You go until I say.”

Spock moans, throaty, deep and primal, and wrenches himself up with a dangerously tight hand on Jim’s shoulder, his fingernails digging into the skin. The change of angle is the very last thing guaranteed to keep them going for longer, too deliciously tight and strong, but when Spock sets about fulfilling his lover’s wishes, McCoy is merciless to do anything but play along. 

McCoy reaches to Spock’s shoulder, pulls him in close as they fuck into Jim with increasingly lacking finesse. There’s something about Spock like this – dark eyes, the faintest flush of green across his cheekbones, sweat matting his perfectly coiffed hair – that gets McCoy, every single fucking time. Reminds him that there’s passion and lust and need beneath the surface, and it's humbling to have it revealed like this. 

He knows that Jim’s cock is probably rubbing off against Spock’s stomach like this – knows, that whether Uhura wants it or not, this will be ending soon. Jim’s gone limp between them, incapable of anything beyond low keens and fraught whining, just being held between the two of them and taking everything they can give. McCoy itches with it himself, wants to rut and claim and come. But there’s still something, something just out of reach, that stops him from damning it all and having his way.

So he leans in, plunders Spock’s mouth in an unforgiving kiss over Jim’s shoulder, bites at his lips and tangles their tongues. Spock even _tastes_ alien, but that’s not what does it – no, it’s only when he takes the hand that was resting on Jim’s shoulder, slots it over the side of his face and growls a “Do it.” into Spock’s mouth, that he begins to _feel_.

Because the meld is just like Jim said and nothing like it at all – stirs up his senses, so that he can hear Jim’s skin and taste Uhura’s voice and see Spock’s fucking thoughts, about imperfection and humanity and disproving any theories he may have had about them because how could anything like this be less than perfect, and it sounds like High Vulcan but he can understand it all and there’s sand blowing against his skin, clogging his throat and it’s fine, so fine, because he’s moving inside and out so fucking deep and he’s surrounded by love, but they’re not melded with Uhura so what the hell does that mean and he needs more but it’s too much and and and…

~

It’s three days later - when they find out that Uhura was really the only one who actually had to come and she just flicks her hair and walks out of the ready room; when McCoy still flushes hot at the thought of that day, even if he still can’t really remember what happened at the end; when Jim is still limping gingerly around the place and fucking _grinning_ about it - that he gets cornered in his office by said errant captain, in need of another pain hypo. Jim grabs his wrist as he pulls the capsule away, hooks his feet around the back of McCoy’s knees and pulls him in close.

“So Spock says you still aren’t talking to him. More to the point, you’re not talking to me. Not really. So what’s up?” He sounds annoyingly conversational, and McCoy sighs.

“Jim…”

“Hey, I know that shit’s intense, okay? Believe me.”

“I shouldn’t have asked him to do it.”

“Are you kidding me? Did you or did you not come harder than you ever have before? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, Bones, it was totally fucking hot, like... wow.”

“I can’t do that for you.” And Jesus, this is why he didn’t want to talk about it, how he’s been stewing over what he’s been missing and what Jim’s been gaining, just how deep Spock’s been able to see inside Jim and McCoy feels like he’s barely scratching the surface anymore.

It’s not jealousy – not really. He’s unbalanced, though, uncertain about the nature of his relationship with Spock and Uhura and Jim for the first time. He bows his head, tries to pull away from Jim, but is held tightly in place.

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Jim’s not fucking around, eyes clear and piercing as he talks. “Bones, come on. You have nothing to worry about. I had plenty of amazing meld-free sex before we started up with Spock, you know that we don’t even do it every time!”

“But I saw things. I saw-”

“How he feels about us? About you?” Jim runs his hands up over McCoy’s shoulders, cups his jaw lightly and he’s all that he can see, right now. “Yeah, that threw me off too, the first time. But is it really that a big of a shock, Bones? After everything that we’ve been through together, all of us. Is it?”

McCoy mulls over his answer for a moment – he rests his forehead against Jim’s in the quiet, chooses his words carefully.

“If Spock melded with us both… what d’you think you’d see?”

He can feel Jim’s grin, leans in to catch it in a light kiss, because it’s there and it’s him and it’s _them_ , thank God. When he pulls away, Jim murmurs his answer against the corner of his mouth, low and sweet and filled with affection that he doesn’t need a goddamn meld to see.

“I guess we’ll know when we try.”


End file.
